Ok. So, I tried dating someone in their 20’s for a couple of weeks. Not my finest hour but hey…at least I’m honest. I am also not in any rush to repeat the experience.
In my defense, I was horny. My libido was nil until two women reneged on their sexual promises in the same weekend. I didn’t even ask or expect sex offers so I was excited. My underpants lit up like The Fourth of July with anticipation. But they both led me down a sexless rabbit hole of lies and confusion. Why? Why?Why do girls do that?
Anyway, so when a twenty something good time to be had asked me for my number, I gave out those digits like Nino Brown in New Jack City. Like I said…I was horny.
Two weeks later…I’m over it.
First of all…I hate texting. To me it’s the best way to create a misunderstanding between two people. I need vocal conversation. Apparently 20somethings text everything, all of the time. Strike One.
StrikeTwo. Please don’t send me messages of girls you think are hot and tell me you can’t approach them because they’re too pretty. Really? So, you pick me up because I’m not as hot and therefore less intimidating? Wow. What am I chopped liver?
Third strike. Telling me I’m pretty would be nice. It’s like everyone you know is better looking than me…wait that’s the same as Strike One. Ok. How about if you’re playing with your homies and I need to talk, step away and give me five minutes of attention. Trust me. Unless all of your homies are as clueless as you, they’ll understand. Why piss off the person you’re trying to get to have sex with you?
But…I guess that’s what I get for being led around by my dick (it’s mental). I should’ve known better..and now I do. After all of this drama, I am no longer horny. My little man in a boat has hidden in a nearby cave and has no plans to emerge any time soon.